Author’s Preface: Blight

In this garden of our world, what may not arise from the uncherished soil? We reproduce as we are, not as we may be. The forms engendered, artifacts of isolation, prepare their indigenous ground without comrades, without love. The weak, the wavering, the small or strange–who will welcome them when they, too, are nourished by a tainted earth? In the reality of our dreams, the borders of value can meld and merge into chaos, into death. But we may intuit, from time to time, that loving necessity which, in its power, retains the communal edge.